They held each other’s gazes. Then Domenico straightened his wet tie, buttoned his jacket, and started to go, but then he paused. He met Sergei’s eyes. “By the way, um… thanks. For what you did that night. In the alley.”
“Don’t mention it.” Sergei hadn’t done it for any altruistic reasons, but he had to admit, he was glad this guy hadn’t been killed. In a weird way, he was starting to like him.
They held eye contact for a few more seconds. Then Dom broke eye contact and brushed past Sergei.
Sergei exhaled. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, wondering what the hell had just happened. Or what was going to happen later tonight. Or why in the world he thought this was anything but a stupid, potentially deadly idea.
Mind reeling, he straightened his hair just for something to do. Then he headed back out to the lounge.
Domenico was nowhere to be seen. Good. He was serious about the whole discretion thing, and wasn’t a complete fuckwit about it.
Sergei looked down at the card in his hand. There was a handwritten phone number and nothing else. If he had any sense at all, he’d have set that card on fire and never let Domenico cross his mind again.
But it was too late for that. Sergei was intrigued.
He had to know what it was like to fuck Domenico Maisano.
Chapter 8
Dom left the club and drove a few blocks before he had to pull over and collect his thoughts. He scrubbed his hands over his face, but that didn’t help—he could still smell Sergei’s cologne, sweat, and semen.
Semen? Had he really…
He looked down at his shirt and the damp spot he hadn’t been able to completely wipe away. Holy shit. He’d lost his mind. He shouldn’t have even been in that club, never mind letting a stripper come all over him and then making plans to meet that stripper later for sex.
A shiver ran through him. In his mind’s eye, he could still see Sergei’s face in that unbearably hot moment—eyes screwed shut, lips apart, fair skin flushed as he’d rubbed against Dom and shuddered. And that kiss. Maybe it had just been too long since he’d kissed a man, but Dom couldn’t remember a kiss ever turning him inside out like Sergei’s had.
He stared out the windshield. What the fuck was he doing? For all he knew, this kid was a goddamned sociopath. He was, after all, capable of cold-blooded murder. That hadn’t been self-defense. Not when they were bound and gagged in the trunk of a car, and dispatched with two expertly-placed rounds apiece. And the bullet to Mandanici’s knee? Even if that had happened by accident—say, during a scuffle—a lot of time had passed between that wound and the lethal one.
But still, something about Sergei drew him in. Dom couldn’t deny that the cold detachment was part of it. Sergei was so in control, and all Dom could think was that Sergei was exactly what he needed so he could lose control.
And when Sergei’s control wavered, as it had tonight in that private booth, he was mesmerizing. Dom wanted more. He wanted to get under his skin. He wanted to see him and hear him and taste him when he let go completely. He needed to know what it felt like to—
His phone buzzed. He jumped, and panic shot through him. Was Sergei canceling?
He dug his phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen.
Shit—that wasn’t a call he could ignore.
“Hello, Biaggio. What’s—”
“Where have you been?” the consigliere snapped. “I’ve been trying to reach you for the past half hour.”
Dom gulped. “Sorry. I was out on the highway. No signal.”
Biaggio huffed sharply. “Well, I hope you’re back in town now. Your uncle wants to speak with you.”
Dom mouthed a curse. Unless he had a damn good reason—one that involved blood, in most cases—Corrado didn’t like excuses. If he wanted to speak with him, that meant now. Dom just hoped this meeting was a quick one.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“How long?”
“Thirty minutes. Forty-five tops.”
“I’ll let him know.”
Dom hung up and pulled out on the road again. He was only about twenty minutes away, but first, he needed to stop by his own place long enough to change his shirt. Better to walk into his uncle’s office a few minutes late than with semen on his shirt. While he was there, he grabbed some condoms and lube from the bedside table. One less stop to make en route to the motel, and thank God, the condoms weren’t expired.
Then he headed straight for his uncle’s house.
*
On the way down the hall toward Corrado’s office, Biaggio wrinkled his nose. “My God, Domenico. That cologne is horrible.”
Cologne? He wasn’t wearing any—
Dom took a breath and caught the lingering scents of leather, sweat, and—though he was probably imagining it, since he’d changed his shirt—other traces of Sergei. He cleared his throat. “Smelled better in the store, I guess.”
Biaggio clicked his tongue but let the subject go. In silence, they walked on, and when they reached the massive double doors, one of Corrado’s security guys pushed it open and gestured for them to go in.
The office was crowded with several of Corrado’s top men. Near the desk, Felice and Luciano hovered, speaking in hushed tones.